Page 50 of To Have and to Stalk
I gripped my counter tile, sugar and flour gritty under my palm.Probably won’t take her on a first date to a fucking graveyard.
I shook my head, turned my phone off, and, after cleaning the kitchen, went to bed early. Then I spent the rest of the weektrying to banish thoughts of Shay and bring myself back to a semblance of control.
I had no right to wonder about who she was matching with.
She was a grown-ass woman. If she wanted to date, I couldn’t stop her.
But, fuck, I wanted to. Wanted to delete her profile, hunt her down, and remind her of our goddamn deal. Then punish her for being so goddamn reckless.
So I went and took that energy out on bad men, on men whose wives and girlfriends had approached me terrified, and who I’d promised would never touch them again.
I went through a month’s worth of marks in a week.
I was more violent than usual. Goading them to hurt me—and they always took the bait—so I could leave them with broken fingers, ribs, and noses.
Every night, I came home bloody.
It nearly worked too. I’d almost returned to my sense of controlled calm. I broke into her house to vacuum and do the dishes only a couple of times.
See? Growth.
Then on Thursday, after I left a particularly violent abuser with a broken collarbone and nose to match the ones he’d given his wife, I lost control. With my knuckles still bloody, I opened the note labeledKinks.
At the first word, I was instantly hard.
Odaxelagnia—biting. She liked biting.
Compliance kink—but she’d added a question mark next to it. Did that mean she wasn’t sure if she liked it?
God, the ways I could learn for certain.
Somnophilia,but like the oppositeshe’d added with a question mark. Shay got turned on by someone using her when she was asleep.
I dragged a bloody hand down the side of my face.
Fuck.
This was bad. I needed to close the note, go take an icy shower. Yet, as I headed toward the bathroom, I continued to scan the list.
Come play/Ingestion—is this the right word for wanting to eat it in food?
I froze just before my bathroom, eyes on those two words:eat it.
Fuck.
What kind of treats did she like? Could I bake them?
I could bake them with my come.
Against my better judgment, my eyes scanned the rest of the list. I froze, body temperature plummeting.
Hybristophilia—arousal to someone who commits crimes.
I slid into the shower, turning the temperature cold. I pressed a hand against the tile, head hanging low. The shower was icy on my neck, stabbing. And still it didn’t calm the thoughts. Control and reservation didn’t come easy to me. That was always my brother’s strength. Where he was innately coolheaded, I worked diligently to pour ice water on my instincts.
Arousal to someone who commits crimes.
Shay’s fantasies were just that, fantasy.
